


there you are in front of me, luminescent as you used to be; just sing the saddest song for me, revive me

by knighthoodie (excelestial)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: <3 Effie, M/M, Monster Tom, because I see you like that shit :3c, prepare for sadness bb, so I hope you like my rendition of it :))))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelestial/pseuds/knighthoodie
Summary: with rains come the rainbow, a fragmented promise of sunshine, but one must prepare for biting winds and starving lightning





	there you are in front of me, luminescent as you used to be; just sing the saddest song for me, revive me

A hellish bellow rattles the glass containers in Tord's laboratory and instinctively the Norwegian man bolts up from his seat, nearly shoving the telescope he was using onto the floor and shattering it. Tord knows damn well he should have anticipated this- for Tom to break. He just never knew when it would happen; he had watched with somber eyes as the Brit would burden himself under more than he should ever have to bear but not once complain or falter. But, then again, he also had his own body and thoughts back then, now it could be argued that he might no longer truly be Tom. Tord shivers at the mere idea.

Everyone else has cracked, simply referring to the creature as a monster. They tried to ignore the gnashing teeth like knives and blood-hungry claws that fade so easily into darkness. They sought to abandon the idea of systematic isolation when the translucent purple glow manifested, ebbing under delicate skin like a river. They wished to see human traits in something with no skin, with ink-like scales and a heavy tail that could sweep any man off of his feet is seconds. They did what they could to try and preserve the humanity in something that was no longer human but they failed and started calling it as they saw it to be- a monster. But to Tord, it was, and still is, Tom.

His Thomas. 

Tord's tried everything to bring Thomas back to him. He's offered up some of his own soldiers as a sacrifice (he didn't particularly care for some of them anyways, it was no real loss for Tord, in complete honesty). Vodka and beers from countries worldwide, some Tord didn't even know existed, had been flown in and presented to Tom, a gift to calm him down. All of them, excluding one Smirnoff Peppermint Twist that was last spotted propped up in the corner, had been immediately smashed against a wall with a lively howl as glass became embedded into Tom's scaly palm, blood burning as alcohol seeped into his wounds. He tried to deliver a replica of Tom's bass, only for it to be torn in half, and in half again, within seconds. Tord had lost weeks of sleep, forcing himself to stay by and listen to the incessant cries and snarls Tom produced, to try and repent for what he had done. Tord was left with no options, he was out of ideas and his men were fearful of approaching the beast Tord had made of Tom. This- this was all Tord's fault and he knew it. And there was no way to fix it. 

He's always heard that only a monster can create another monster, but he can't bring himself to think of the lumbering brute smashing his way through Tord's laboratory over to Tord himself as anything more than the unfortunate result of Tord's insecurities and irrational thought. Tord never thought he was perfect, not in the ways Tom ever deserved, but he thought that maybe,  _just maybe,_ he could be good enough. How naive could Tord be though, to think that Tom's love would still be unwavering after Tord had done... had done  _this._

A part of Tord wants to scream, to try and beg for mercy but his mouth ran dry and his blood cold. He didn't deserve to be saved, not anymore, as he strains his neck to meet the emptiness of Tom's eyeholes, the faint purple luminescence behind them flickers as Tom tracks each of Tord's movements. Paralyzed, Tord doesn't even bother to scramble out of the way as Tom's massive body barrels towards him, accompanied by a cacophonous symphony of glass vials and metal machinery. 

Tord is crying- he's afraid. Looming over him, Tom's disfigured jaw is cracked open, a shark's mouth with rows of razors would be more welcoming to Tord. Saliva and god know what else that Tord refused to think about splatter down on him as deep, uneven breathing just adds to the sensation of a pure horror situation. Tom's eyes are empty and not just the emptiness of his sockets, there is nothing in them. There is no love, there is no sadness. There exists no warmth, just the inevitability of solitude and death. Despite the severity of the situation, Tord finds himself laughing at the absurdity of Tom's eyelessness, how ironic it is that as empty as his eyes were, there has never been another human who saw things as graciously as Tom did. How Tom forgave Tord for all his mistakes, for the broken chairs and hearts, for the tears in his clothes and those on his face. Tord almost cannot believe that the destructive animal before is the same as the man who held his hand so tenderly when Tord got scared during a movie. Tord also cannot believe he would have ever done this to the only one who willingly surrendered his heart to Tord and thinks that _he_   _deserves this_ as he feels the stench of rotting gore and the faintest bit of alcohol on his cheek, the promise of teeth clinking just inches away. 

A pathetic squeak erupts from Tord as thick, cold claws clamps around his throat, something inky and dark dripping down his neck as Tord is hoisted effortlessly into the air, brought up to Tom's line of sight. His breath smells of dead things- of carnage and blood and sorrow and regret. Tord finds himself missing the scent of alcohol momentarily. Gasping dryly, Tord's hands fly up to uselessly attempt to pry off the claws tightening around his neck and suffocating him. Tom's lips, cracked like the waterless desert, curl into a vile snarl, immediately making Tord shudder in submission, not wishing to aggravate Tom further. Each breath Tord takes feels like breathing through a paper bag, only it's not calming him down- he's getting more panicked, his ghastly pale face soaked in tears. Desperate times call for desperate measures and with the corners of his vision beginning to get blurry- Tord doubts he's ever been this desperate before in his life, so he has only one option left and no reasons why not to try. 

"Y-You are m-my," Tord coughs grossly, still struggling for air as Tom remains unmoved. Tears wet Tord's face as he sucks in a shaky, broken breath, "m-my s-sun... sunshine, m-m-my oh-only su-sunshine. Y-You may-make me hah-happy wh-hen ski-ies ah-are grey." 

Something softens on Tom's face, as if he can recognize the words, the voice singing them, as distorted as it is. The murky purple glow flickering around his eyes brightens just the tiniest bit, jaw going slack as Tom blinks, lost, at Tord. It's almost like award-winning filmography, the staggered, jerky movements of Tom's arm, the stinging bite of claws slowly falling from Tord's throat. Despite the weight being lifted, Tord finds himself still unable to breathe, knees buckling and he collapses onto the floor, hand flying to his chest in an attempt to steady himself. Haggard is the whistling of his breath as Tord tries to see straight, but only wishes that perhaps he never see again as his oxygen-deprived eyes begin to clear. There's a silver lining to every cloud, a ray of sun to break through even the densest fog- euphemism after euphemism that Tord wishes would just stop trying to pretend that good can always come through in the end, someway, somehow. Because clouds carry storms, brandishing lightning like fangs and shrieks of thunder, and god knows that no amount of sunlight could ever truly fix the resulting damage- nothing can fix the broken pieces left in the wake of a storm. Tord knows he is a storm, brutal and unforgiving. He's a monster. The thought makes bile rise in his throat as he forces himself to look at the horror he inflicted on Tom.

Tom has thrown himself to the floor, his hulking form curled up in on itself as he presses into a nearby corner. The starless skies of Tom's eyes are empty, cold and Tord hates himself more than ever- desperately wishing he would, one day, be able to hang each individual star back up, bring Tom back to the state he was before he met Tord. Subtle patches of human skin, pale like snow lilies, have begun to blossom out from beneath the tarlike scales of Tom's body, but what is seen is not the same flesh that Tord had once held so tenderly in the dead of winter. It's raw, cuts and lesions that Tord prays to whatever god may be out there weren't self-inflicted. Because if they weren't, it would mean they were a product of Tord's orders- Tord can live with knowing that he was the monster, the one who ran the knife along Tom's skin and it would only serve to prove himself right, that he was never worthy of Tom, destined to maim and shred. But Tord could never sleep soundly if Tom did something like that to himself, so lost in the world that he would take it upon himself to carve out his own compass. 

So there is Tom, a shaking mess with blood matted in his feathery locks with a distant look in his eyes that just hurts Tord in ways he never thought he could be hurt. Tord would happily endure endless torture, have his body mutilated because, _fuck_ , that's exactly what he deserves for having made Tom into **_this_** , if it just meant Tom would never have to feel this way again. But Tord can't, and he knows it. Tord's legs refuse to hold his weight when he attempts to push himself to a stand and somehow he finds it fitting. Tom is unmoving as Tord drags himself closer to the Brit, so still that Tord can barely hold back his tears at the mere thought that maybe Tom no longer was truly, completely here. And Tord is unashamed of his broken cry of relief when he spies Tom's chest, the subtle movements that mean far more than just being alive. Armorlike scales are cracked and Tord thinks for a moment that never before has such pain been so unnecessary- Tom has endured so much already. 

"I'm... I'm so... so..." Tord hiccups between his cries, burying his face into the cool heat of Tom's chest, jagged scales digging into his pale cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Thomas." A human hand cards through Tord's hair so gently that he doesn't even notice. 


End file.
